Page 39 of Book People

I need to see these notes, read them for myself, but the thought of being in Miss Jones’s presence right now is too tempting and I have to resist.

Resistance has never been a problem for me before. My father’s relationship with the bottle was the same as my grandfather’s with the racetrack, and both addictions were enough for me to know that I don’t want to head down the same path. But I’ve never felt the pull of addiction before and so I’d ignorantly assumed I’ve escaped it somehow.

I haven’t, though, and I know it now, because the pull in me to cross the road and go into Miss Jones’s shop is almost irresistible. I can think of a thousand different excuses to go andall of them are completely plausible, and I’m sure that’s how it starts, the addiction.

I’ve had a taste of her and now all I want is more.

Then again, Idoneed to know what’s happening about Lisa Underwood, so I quickly type out a text.

Did you email Lisa U?

I start to put my phone away, because I don’t want to stand around waiting for her to reply, but she’s replying already before I can.

I got a response from her this morning and so I emailed back re the letters and also re the festival.

That’s good. In fact, that’s excellent.

You think she’ll accept?

I text back.

Miss Jones responds.

I think so. Those letters are so interesting. I really need to talk to you about them.

I shake my head.

Later. I told you.

When?

There is a pause and then she adds,

Scared?

I give a low laugh.

What would I be scared of?

Me. That kiss.

I grit my teeth.

Forget the kiss.

There is a long pause.

Was it really that bad?

I stare at my phone for a long time as something tightens inside me. Does she think that’s why I stopped? Because it was a bad kiss? I thought I’d been clear about why. I can’t startsomething with her, not when she lives here. Not while we have competing businesses and the festival to plan.

And definitely not considering the Blackwoods’ terrible history when it comes to women. We always let them down in some way, shape or form, and since I know I haven’t escaped the same genetic weakness that undermined my grandfather and father, I have to assume I’ll also be a terrible partner.

Miss Jones surely deserves better than that.

Still, while it would be easier to let her think that the kiss was a terrible one, I can’t do that to her. I’m an arsehole but I’m notthatmuch of an arsehole. Also, I don’t want to lie about a kiss that good.

It wasn’t bad, Miss Jones.

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